What Lingers: A Poem

What Lingers

I’ve lived so long among ghosts,
the puffed up shells,
watery husks
shimmering transparent skins
that shiver in the wind.
Like so much sea foam,
they shrink away
from the outstretched hand,
fall back into their emptiness.
They were only ever noise
and tension, then,
stealing form
from chaos.
I see faces in the foam
like the pantomimes
played out among the clouds
— then they are gone,
only ever projections
of a lonely eye.

So much better
the quiet suck of mud
after a long rain,
the tough old stems,
the sting of the stubborn nettle,
all about the earth
that lingers,
that leaves a mark.

Alison Leigh Lilly nurtures the earth-rooted, sea-soaked, mist-and-mystic spiritual heritage of her Celtic ancestors, exploring themes of peace, poesis and wilderness through essays, articles, poetry and podcasting. You can learn more about her work here.